Minor Advisory: Adult Content

Two quotes today from my English teacher and my mother, respectively.

"The three C's of succeeding in college. Class: go to it. You'll have enough time to do whatever without skipping. Cocaine: don't do it. You may think you're stronger, but you won't ever win. Ever. And third, Condoms: use them all the time. Even if you're, like, sitting on the couch in your dorm and look over and , oh!, there's a penis! Use a condom."

"I knew teachers and students who did cocaine in college, and I don't know why. If you're going to do drugs, do a good one. If you're not going to have a mind-altering experience, what's the point?"

No news is good news. It's all ever bad.

"Score? I found some but I think it's crappy stuff. My good stuff's downstairs somewhere. Hah! that sounds like I'm talking about drugs."
"Lip shizzle is the new smack."

"iPod no boom-boom! Me Tarzan! You... Apple genius!"

"Dude, I'm the Guy Ripley of subject changes."

"Psh, whatever, man. Perfectionists make better lovers. Like bassists."

~

How convenient that nobody reads this anyway. I can spill secrets the likes of which no one has ever heard! Or not. But I do have something, for once.

I went to the doctor last week, skipping out on leading freshmen on a lame day of stuff that they won't remember anyway, to ask the nice lady about these dizzy spells and other annoying symptoms I've been getting. So she takes my blood pressure and says, "Wow. You definitely have low blood pressure." Reassuring.

Besides the possibility of anemia (which is likely), she mentioned the words "polycystic ovary disease". What the hell is that, I wondered. Apparently polycystic ovary disease is a genetic disorder that affects a woman's hormones, heart, blood vessels, ability to have children, and insulin levels.

As the doc's listing off symptoms, I'm sitting on the patient's bench, trying to remember my family history. Heart problems: check. High cholesterol: check. Diabetes: check. Tendency to be overweight: check. Difficulty getting pregnant: check, though I'm not exactly worried about that right now.

Diagnosis: Oh shit, I'm fucked.

So I went into the lab (twice, stupid unaccompanied minors policy) and got blood drawn for tests. I hate needles. Bleeding, I can deal with. Just not when it's going into a plastic bag or test tube. I fucking hate needles. Despite my paranoia and hypochondria, I don't think I can handle having to tell people I have an incurable disease that's more prevalent than breast cancer. I still haven't the results yet, so I'm nervous as hell.

And life was going so nicely too.

Tearing through smiles like it's going out of style.

"The SATs were easier than Doug after he's had a couple of drinks."

That's for Kylie. I'm livid, so I've really got nothing else to say, except that I am officially readopting my philosophy that people only ever let you down.

The power of teh Intarwebs

This just in:

I started a rumour in another state across the freakin' country. So if you're ever in Maine and hear about a girl in California who's related to Ryan Ross, that's me.

Anyway, I was thinking about starting a blog with a different site address. This one doesn't really suit my purposes anymore. Tell me what you think, if you're out there.

The things you find under rocks

"I'm handing out bonus points like I'm a trained fish!"

"Everyone is entitled to their own hippopotamus."

Strange people.


So I was going through some old songs and short stories and whatnot, and I came across this. While it might not be up the snuff linguistically, I think it's a legitimate representation of the subject matter. [shrug] Or I'm making it up.


He smiles at me from across the room, but the miles between us I cannot traverse. I smile weakly and return to the conversation in which I do not delight, never really listening, just nodding with grunts of acknowledgment.

She looks so miserable over there, but my feet won’t carry through the mob. I smile at her when she looks and she smiles sadly returning to the boredom, never really talking, just nodding with distant gaze of Morpheus.

I see him get up from the corner of my eye and make his way into the beyond. My hope incinerates and floats away on the wisps of smoke and heat of bodies. I sink into the couch and close my eyes.

I mean to save her from the tedium but I chicken out at the first second and go to the kitchen. My courage drowns and gets swept away in the rivers of booze and din of noise. I hoist myself onto the counter and close my eyes.

Does he know my name? [She couldn’t know my name.]

Does she like my looks? [He must think I’m a freak.]

Does he like me? [I love her.]

Does she like me? [I love him.]

Things would never work out between us. I would mess things up like I always do. Should I even bother with him? It’s all a waste of energy and tears.

Things would never work out between us. I would fuck things up like I always do. I can’t help but liking her. She’s everything I want, but I can’t say the words.

Why did I even coming to this frickin’ party? I don’t know anyone here I can talk to, and these people don’t care I’m alive. I should go home and watch a movie, just me and a pint of ice cream. I’m such a loser.

Why did I let them drag me here? I dislike everyone here I’ve seen and I can barely tolerate everyone I’ve talked to. I should go home and beat Zelda again, just me and an empty room. I’m such a loser.

What could he ever see in me? [She thinks I’m just another popular ‘rebel’.]

Why would she ever like me? [He thinks I’m just another wannabe punk.]

Is that her looking at me? [That’s him disappearing.]

Is that him heading out? [That’s her escaping.]